


The song that is irresistible

by alchemise



Category: Brandy (Song)
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, Sea-longing, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13096968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemise/pseuds/alchemise
Summary: No harbor was her home.





	The song that is irresistible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mtgat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtgat/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!
> 
> Title from Margaret Atwood's "Siren Song."

It was while she was looking at her face in the mirror one morning that the thought first entered her mind. It was deep, though, too far back in her subconscious for her to yet make sense of it. Only a tiny glimpse of the idea presented itself to her, of something she'd heard many times before.

_They said her eyes could steal a sailor from the sea._

She frowned at the thought. It didn't make much sense to her. Sure, granted, Brandy had been told she had rather striking eyes, all grey-blue and stormy. But they were certainly not enough to keep a man from the sea. None could resist its call for long. Most especially, not _him_. Her sailor, her _love_.

He'd made his choice clear. The sea over her.

Brandy had read tales of the sirens in school: those temptresses of the waves, luring men to their deaths. Drowned in the depths or stranded with their ships shredded by waves and rocks.

She was no siren herself, unable to keep the one she most desired close to her.

She touched his locket, warm from lying on her chest, where it always sat. With one last glance at the mirror, she turned and left her room. Time for work and the practical matters of living. No more daydreams of lost love and mythological creatures.

 

* * *

 

That evening at the bar, a group of fresh-eyed, new sailors were being regaled with tales of heroism and inexplicable encounters out on the high seas: the grizzled older men telling increasingly outlandish stories to the unseasoned youngsters about to join them on their first voyage.

Brandy, of course, had heard these all before. Although the embellishments changed every time, depending on the audience. The old sailors always quick to adapt to an eager ear.

She snorted in amusement as she wiped down the bar and poured fresh drinks. It was unlikely that all of the young men would continue after this first run. About a third soured on it after their first taste of the water and the salt and the ropes and the sun. And the storms, of course. If they were unlucky enough to experience one of those the first time out, then even fewer would stay on for the future.

Then there were those who never made it back at all. Lost at sea. Taken by the sirens.

Brandy had long ago given up on grieving those beautiful young men who didn't return. It was a part of a life bound to the sea, and she was as hardened to it as the old sailors spinning their yarns.

She didn't think her love was yet among those lost. Word was his captain had been tempted away by a different kind of siren: a more lucrative shipping contract with a different port town.

 

* * *

 

Later at home, as she readied for bed, Brandy was startled by a commotion down the street, which made her remember the thought from that morning that she couldn't quite see.

She looked out her window at a brawl breaking out between sailors of different ships. Driven by insult or jealousy or just too much indulgence in alcohol. Almost any excuse could lead those men to fight. She watched the brawl break up, as the cooler heads of their superiors stepped in and stern words were exchanged. The sailors broke off back to their ships, chastised but laughing, having achieved whatever release they were seeking and the spot of violence provided.

Brandy watched them depart, mulling over the thought from earlier but still unable to get a clear look at it. It was closer than before but lacked a firm outline or features to reveal itself fully. Something related again jumped out at her though.

_They said what a good wife she would be._

She pondered those words she'd heard many times before. From both sailors and townsfolk. They called her kind, but never naïve. Tough and stubborn, yet caring. She'd been dealing with drunken louts and the worst kind of man the sea attracted since she was a young girl. She knew how to handle them all. She'd even worked on the docks, when times were lean and bar tips not enough to support her and her aging parents before they passed. She'd done the work of a man twice her size and done it well: hauling goods, tying off boats, carrying on without complaint.

So she knew that they were right, in one regard; she had fine qualities that should have made her a capable wife.

Except those weren't enough. She wasn't enough. Not for the only one she'd ever wanted to marry, anyway.

 

* * *

 

The next night, back at the bar—where she had spent almost every night of her adult life—something happened to make the thought that had been eating away at her finally breach the surface of her mind.

A woman walked through the door with a few of her crew in tow. Brand recognized her, although it had been years since the woman was last in town. Word of her exploits, however, had reached even this small port. She was now a captain of her own ship, having fought and scrambled her way to the top, in spite of every rude comment and attempt to pull her back down. She used to come by the bar in her younger days, when her ship was in dock, and tell Brandy stories of the sea: as ridiculous as any of the old men's tales. Brandy would laugh and pour her drinks, always wishing her luck when she headed back out. They hadn't exactly been friends—there was never time for such things—but they'd respected each other. Both women making their way in a hard world that had no sympathy for weakness.

Brandy watched her approach a table in the back, sending one of her sailors to the bar for drinks. As the captain sat, her eyes met Brandy's and she gave a nod in acknowledgment. Brandy smiled back, noting the fine clothing the woman wore, which only accentuated the aura of command that surrounded her. The outfit was of a fashion and cloth that certainly hadn't come from this little town. It spoke of faraway peoples and exotic places. She'd clearly done very well for herself in this life.

Seeing her old acquaintance, contented and successful, made something snap loose in Brandy's mind and the full thought was suddenly before her.

_He'd said his life was the sea._

It was the last thing her love had said to her before he'd left. The reason he'd given for why he couldn't stay. She'd said she understood, though it hurt her heart to do so. But she didn't want to keep a man who'd only yearn to be elsewhere. She'd then forced herself not to think of those words since.

Only now she wondered at that siren call in a way she hadn't before, puzzling over its song.

She thought of the sea through the rest of her shift, distracted in a way that was rare for her. The sailors shrugged at the spilled drinks and wrong orders, no recriminations issued, but Brandy did notice they tipped notably less in response.

Near the end of the night, once most sailors had quit the bar for warm beds and warmer company, Brandy reached a decision and approached the captain's table. Only the woman's most senior officers remained, a mix of men and women both. The captain nodded graciously to Brandy's request to speak with her; the officers stood and bade their goodnights to both women.

Brandy told the woman of her love's final words and asked what they meant. The woman laughed, everything about her lighting up as she told of the freedom and excitement of her life at sea. There were no exaggerations this time. She told the straight truth, of the dangers and near disasters she'd experienced time and again. But even those didn't darken her expression. She spoke as a woman in love: a love that had fueled her for years and showed no signs of slacking. Her love, her life, was the sea.

Brandy sat and listened, for hours it seemed like. As she did, something tugged at her heart that she hadn't felt since he had left her. It was something like the yearning she'd felt for him; it made her blush and tremble with all the possibilities before her.

The answer was clear. She too needed to answer the siren's call. Even if just to know what it was that turned people away from a predictable, steady life ashore and drove them into the unknown of wind and waves.

She asked the captain if she'd take Brandy on, quickly listing all she knew of sailing and the sea. The woman laughed again, in agreement, explaining that it was the passion that mattered most—that need to see what was out there.

Brandy raced home to pack up what few belongings she might want with her, realizing it was easy to say goodbye to the life she'd known. There was nothing keeping her there anymore.

She looked toward the docks, trying to pick out her future home in the dim lights. Soon she'd be away. Maybe to find him. A part of her wanted to look, just to know whether there was a chance out there with him, if they both gave in to the sea. And if not, so be it. She refused to any longer be the one left behind, wandering the streets forlornly, clutching a locket to remember him by.

She could hear the siren's song, clear as a bell, and knew that while there was great risk in answering it, there was only regret in refusing. It was time to go. The sea was calling.


End file.
